What you can learn from a good book
by dedanaan
Summary: My written response to Silene's Picture the Story Challenge on WIKTT. The drawing this short story vignette, really is based on is by Mouselmeg and there's a link to it at the end.


I hate rainy Saturdays, they're my worst nightmare come true. It means I'm trapped in the Gryffindor common room with a bunch of hormonal, quidditch loving lunatics who can't get their fix. They drive me nuts. Why couldn't today have been a nice, sunny October day? It just had to pour out of the heavens, didn't it? The frown between my brows deepens and I have a suspicion that I'm developing quite the line there. There's an exam coming up in Advanced Potions and I'd been looking forward to curling up in a squashy wing-chair by the fire and studying in peace and quiet while everyone was down at the pitch. Instead, here I sit, listening to them all harp on about the thousands of different ways they'd have won. It's the same bloody conversation every time and I could probably recite it by heart if I cared. But I don't care, not at all, especially not after seven years of the same old story. There's nothing else for it, I'm going to have to go to the library. I scoop up my satchel and cram my books and parchment into it, not even pausing to explain where I'm going to anyone. I don't have to. They all know where to find me--good old predictable Hermione.

That's something I hate to admit has been bothering me since the beginning of term. Everyone can _always_ rely on me. I can be counted on to be the mature one; the organizer; the mother hen. I feel 18 going on 80 and I'm tired. I wonder what it would feel like to just muck around like everyone else seems to do. I wonder what they'd all think or do if I went and did something out of character like that. The smile at this thought is still on my lips as I push open the library door. I look around, not seeing Madam Pince at all. That's odd, she's as much a fixture as the bookshelves themselves in this place. I wonder if there's a staff meeting going on.

I shrug my satchel off my shoulder and sink into a chair at the end of one of the study tables. I pull out my quill, parchment and a couple of books on advanced alchemy. I open the books and, elbows propped on table, begin to read. I'm restless and I'm finding it hard to concentrate. It's too quiet in here, even for the library. Maybe it's because I'm used to hearing Madam Pince scratching away with a quill in the background as I study. Or maybe it has something to do with the train of thought I was having when I came in here. After rereading the same paragraph on the uses of ground agates in potions for the fifth time in a row, I push the book away and sigh with frustration. I'm not going to get anywhere at this rate.

I stand up and begin to walk along the rows of shelves, running a finger along the spines of the books as I read the titles. Maybe I can find some inspiration here. I squint at the titles. Bloody Hell, I've started in the sports section! No thank you, no inspiration here for me. I duck into the next row and find myself in the self-help section. I've never really spent any time in this part of the library because I think the whole self-help industry is a load of codswallop, much along the same line as Divination. If you have a modicum of common sense, the way to help yourself out of any given situation should be self-evident. I decide to give myself a chuckle and check out the titles. I'm having a great old time pulling books off the shelves and flipping through them. The advice in some of them is bloody hilarious and in no time I'm snickering away quietly for all I'm worth. I re-shelve The Idiot's Guide to Hygiene, shaking my head, and move on to the next book. There's no title on the spine of this slim, green, leather-bound volume and I have to take it out to see what it is. I do a double-take. 'How to Marry a Potions Master' is embossed on the front in gold letters. What on earth is a book like that doing on these shelves? I decide it bears further investigation and return to the table, plopping myself back down in the chair and settling in for an interesting read.

The first thing the author (one Euphemia Nettle--Gods, I hope that's her nom-de-plume) writes is that the average Potions Master is an anti-social and reclusive sort by nature, the type of man who does not suffer fools gladly. I think of our own resident Potions Master and smile. She's not kidding. Ms. Nettle goes on to note that it is very hard to get their attention as they are always mired up to their elbows in some experiment or another and dislike venturing far from their laboratories. Unless they're lured out by the promise of taking many points from Gryffindors, that is, I think uncharitably. 

The more I read, the more a strange little idea takes seed and sprouts in my mind. Merlin's beard, why do the worst ideas always take root the easiest? I find myself wondering what it would take to find the chink in Professor Snape's armour. Is there one? Is there more to him than just being a Slytherin rat bastard? Why would anyone want to know? Why does an Insufferable Gryffindor Know-It-All (his words, not mine) like me want to find out? Maybe it's the thought that it's time for Hermione Granger to do something unexpected and shake everyone up. Rattle their cages. I like that idea and can feel a crafty smile curl the corners of my mouth. Now, I wonder if there's a book on those shelves that gives hints and tips on scoring detention with a Potions Master…

(1,000)

The lovely pic that inspired this story is by Mouselmeg (^_^) and can be viewed here - remember to comment on it too:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/denofdivinity/files/Picture%20the%20Story%20Challenges/book.jpg

Karen


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